


Why Then the World's Mine Oyster, Which I With Sword Will Open

by Kisleth



Series: Lights on the Water [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Nautical, Deep-Sea Fishing, Fluff, Lighthouses, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deep-sea fishing/lighthouse AU. It's just a typical evening out in the deep water with shore out of sight. At least, it is until the ship's cat, Starbuck, discovers something in the belly of a fish.</p>
<p>Sometimes it takes something small to turn a ripple into a wave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Then the World's Mine Oyster, Which I With Sword Will Open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/gifts).



> I really really need to thank four amazing people who helped me figure out how to do this, right down to the tiny details: Chaos, infiniteeight, Sid Biscuits, and featheredschist. You are all amazing. Thank you.
> 
> Double thanks to Sid and Schisty for beta'ing.
> 
> Also, this is gifted to AlyKat for her birthday <3

Phil sighs softly and settles onto the rail of the _Triskelion_. It’s been a long day and he misses Clint. He’s still a loner, always will be, but some days he hates that it’s so quiet out here. Some days he hates that there is only one in his bed and that one is him. Starbuck may like to think he counts as a bedwarmer, and some nights a purring feline is a great improvement to a cold and otherwise empty bed, but nothing can replace the feel of Clint in his arms.

He’s only partially through his season and he’s thinking about maybe, just maybe, taking the next season off, maybe even the next, and staying with Clint. Together they can get the rest of the repairs needed done on the house during the nice days. He’s a bit too old to completely flip his sleep schedule so it’d line up with Clint’s, but he could offset himself a few hours to stay up late with Clint, get up early to accompany him for another hour or so of his watch before they go to bed together to sleep.

His thoughts are disrupted by the feline currently racing across the deck. He raises an eyebrow at him, wondering what on earth he’s found to play with now, especially since he can’t hear the familiar rattle of the bottle cap that is his usual toy. He doesn’t see anything, despite the cat pawing and chasing something, and steps over to check it out. Starbuck bats it in his direction, and he crouches down to pick it up before it rolls away.

Pinched between his fingers is a small cream-colored pearl. If pressed for a size, he’d estimate it’s somewhere between one and two millimeters in diameter, leaning toward the larger side. It’s tiny, but pretty, and  Phil brings it below decks to put into an empty baby food jar (he has a small collection because they’re easy to keep small things in, plus he can velcro them down).

He heads back up, or at least starts to, when He spots Starbuck chasing something else. Listening carefully, he thinks he can hear another tiny pearl rolling on the deck. Starbuck bats it his way and he catches it before it bounces down the stairs. “Where are you getting these, ‘Buck?” Phil wonders aloud.

Wishing he was close enough to St Pierre et Miquelon to radio Clint for the night, he wanders the deck, trying to find the source. He finds it a few minutes later when Starbuck paws yet another tiny pearl out of the belly of the fish Phil had given him for his dinner. He crouches down and opens up clawed-open meat and finds a few more pearls inside. He has the urge to call Clint up on his satellite phone, but he’d already used so many minutes this month that he’s trying to save some for emergencies (which was the original purpose of the phone, regardless of Clint’s claims).

He frowns and wonders if there’s more. They’re almost too small to do anything with but… an idea is starting to form, something that he could do. He has a friend in Port Hawkesbury whose brother-in-law is a jeweler. Maybe he could make something of these. He already has the perfect use in mind.

Clint and he have been together for nearly two years. Some might think of it as too soon, but he is in his fifties and Clint his forties, young men they are not. He knows himself well by now, he knows that this—that marrying Clint—is what he wants. He also knows that not marrying him and just staying as together is fine by him as well. He doesn’t want to push Clint into this. He doesn’t want to lose him. Phil will be happy with either answer, as long as the end result is still _them_.

Phil moves over to the carcass and inspects it for the type of fish and is pleased to find another small pearl had rolled out onto the deck. He picks it up and then goes over to the hatch where the rest of the fish are kept. He lays down on the deck and prays that Starbuck won’t just dive headfirst into the storage full of fish. He’ll be able to open the mouths and gently feel inside for a chance at more pearls without damaging them. He’s willing to sacrifice a few fish when he finds the right ones for an engagement ring for Clint.

Luck is with him in that Starbuck doesn’t dive into storage and he finds a few fish that feel like there are pearls inside. He’ll probably eat some of them, and feed some to Starbuck. He’s not sure if he wants to try chumming the water for bigger fish and considers it as he walks to the galley with the three specimens he’d picked for dissection. It takes no time at all. He puts all the new pearls into the jar where the first had gone and smiles softly to himself.

Port Hawkesbury isn’t too far away, Phil muses to himself after he’s settled into bed. Starbuck purrs loudly against his neck as Phil mentally updates his itinerary to add in the detour. He’s barely halfway through his trip, so hopefully the ring will be ready by the time he swings back through.

With a content sigh, Phil reaches up to stroke Starbuck’s fur. The purring intensifies and the fisherman can’t help but smile fondly. It’s a perfect lullaby, between the cat and the gentle waves against the sides of the _Triskelion_. The only addition that could make this any better is the soft sounds Clint makes as he sleeps.

* * *

Phil isn’t tired enough to sleep this morning after his usual seven hours. (At least he thinks it’s been only seven hours.) Some days he is once he’s finally home and others he just isn’t. His reason for sleeplessness right now, however, could probably be blamed on one thing. Or a few smaller things. Thing number one was that he had the ring. The shop made it to his specifications and Natasha had managed to sneakily get the size of Clint’s ring finger. They had held onto the ring for him until he was able to pick it up the day he came into port to sell his catch.

It is perfect. He had been worried at first, but he’d held it in his hand and felt how light it was. It wouldn’t bother Clint at all to wear it. He is hyper aware of where it sits in the drawer of his bedside table. He wants to check on it, make sure it’s still there, still perfect. The urge is a buzz at the back of his skull and eventually he gives in and shifts carefully.

Clint is curled up against the side of his chest, his arm slipped under Phil’s tee shirt to hug his middle. Starbuck is snuggled into Clint, his rump against the top of the man’s spine and his face pressed into the soft spikes of clint’s hair. It seems that the feline missed their lighthouse keep as much as he did.

His hand lands on the drawer pull without disturbing either of them which is a blessing because Clint had only come to bed an hour or two ago. Maybe more, but Phil can’t see the clock from here. He’d been laying awake and reading on Clint’s tablet for a while, so maybe more time had passed than he thinks.

Fingers brushing over the little box, he pulls it out to silently admire. It’s made of wood. Admittedly, he has no idea what kind of wood it is, but it’s a warm, medium brown. It’s been sanded and polished in a way that makes it feel almost velvety under his fingers. Inlaid on the top is abalone shell and mother of pearl in the silhouette of Gallantry Light. It was a personal touch Jessica had suggested when she went with him to visit her brother-in-law. She assured him it was romantic and even now he couldn’t disagree.

Removing the lid one-handed takes time and care, but he manages it. He rests the lid on his belly and brings the lower half closer to his face so he can inspect it. The tiny pearls are in a ring, sandwiched by white gold to keep them from falling out. The pearls aren’t flawless. Some are misshapen, and some are smaller than others, but they give the ring character. The surface of the gold looks hammer beaten, instead of being polished and perfect and smooth.

It’s a little beaten up looking and unique, just like Clint. The pearls are such a good combination of land and sea in Phil’s head. After all, sand gets into an oyster’s shell and then magic happens. The ring is a little bit of him and a little bit of Clint and the best way to symbolize them as one, as a whole.

Before he even thinks to move and put it away, Clint shifts behind him with a sleepy groan. He pushes his face under Phil’s shoulderblade, uncurling and laying more onto his stomach. “Bad morning, bad.” He grouses, his voice muffled and husky. Phil can’t stop himself from smiling until his face starts to hurt. He panics a little because the ring is still out in the open, but Clint is still buried and he’ll be able to hide it in time.

Clint inchworms up until he can rest his chin on Phil shoulder, the tip of his nose tucked behind Phil’s earlobe. “Hey there, Sailor. You dock here often?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Phil can’t help but burst into laughter.

“You absolute dork.” He wheezes. It doesn’t help that Clint is now embracing his inner cephalopod and clinging to him with every limb as wandering fingers skitter over and tickle his ribs.

“You love me.” Clint wheedles. “Can’t get away that easily.”

“I don’t want to get away. I want to marry you.”

Clint stops tickling and leans over Phil’s shoulder to meet his gaze which has sobered, but not lost its joy. “You do?”  
  
“I think it might be a bit early for ‘I do’s?”

“Hypothetical, then?”

“Empirical.”

“Are you sure?”

Phil raises an eyebrow and holds up the hand still holding the box with Clint’s ring.

“Christ, Loner. If you give me a heart attack now, I won’t be able to drive Nat crazy by asking her wedding questions.” He gawks at the ring, leaning on Phil’s shoulder and upper arm to look at it. Phil wants to fidget but he’s slowly getting squished into the bed and therefore can’t move other than kicking his legs. Which he doesn’t do. Clint inhales shakily. “Christ. You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“You know this is permanent, right?” He hasn’t moved back from where he is on top of Phil. He doesn’t let Phil even mention anything about divorce being an unfortunately common occurence, continuing to talk. “Like, this is a swan song of a sort. Forever. Never letting you go.”

“And what are we now?” Phil’s quiet tone doesn’t hide the fear as well as he’d like.

“That.” Clint admits with a shaky little laugh. “Christ, I’m already there. This… You’re it for me, Phil.”

Phil rolls a bit more onto his back and slips an arm around Clint, the other holding up the ring still. “Good. It’s the same for me. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll... Christ.” Clint shakes his head and kisses Phil on the lips. “I—ask me again. Properly.”

Phil sets down the small box and gently pulls out the ring. He holds it up to Clint and meets his keep’s beautiful sea-colored eyes. “Clint Barton, my Light in the storm, will you do me the honor of marrying me and becoming my husband?”

Clint is grinning so widely that it looks like his face might hurt. “Phil Coulson, my Voice in the silence, I most certainly will.”

 


End file.
